


The LA Shower Scene - Extended Mix

by Losemyhead



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Alex uses Henry's shampoo, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Shower Sex, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 10:13:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20226157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Losemyhead/pseuds/Losemyhead
Summary: After the fundraiser, after the karaoke bar, after the night where Alex returned to himself to find everything slightly rearranged, there was the shower...





	The LA Shower Scene - Extended Mix

**Author's Note:**

> I read RWRB a few weeks ago and I've been nursing a slight book crush ever since. I wanted to write something without writing a whole novel about it.

They head to the bathroom together, laughing and kissing and tripping over silk kimonos. Alex grabs Henry’s toiletry bag from the nightstand as they leave their wrecked room.

“What else do you have in here? Any other secret vials I should know about?” He plans to use every single one of Henry’s expensive products. He didn’t bother to pack anything apart from his toothbrush and razor.

Henry grabs him by the waist and steers him towards the shower. “Only shampoo and body wash. All fit for a prince, of course.”

“Cool,” Alex grins, letting Henry steer him into the huge shower space. “I didn’t pack any. I usually use whatever the hotel offers.”

Henry huffs a soft laugh into the nape of Alex’s neck, shakes his head. “Scruffy nerf-herder,” he mumbles, lips grazing skin. He places a soft kiss there.

Alex takes a look around the lavish bathroom. He’s stayed in some pretty classy hotels during his time as FSOTUS but nothing quite like this. The bathroom is big – huge, the fittings are sleek and modern, chrome. The floor and walls are white marble. They extend all the way up to the high, ornate ceiling. There’s a chandelier hanging from the centre of the ceiling, oversized and elaborate. Who has a fucking chandelier in the bathroom?

And don’t even get him started on the shower. The shower is enormous. It could easily hold their entire party of six from last night– not that he wants to share this with anyone other than Henry. Alex thinks it could probably hold a few PPO’s as well.

The opposite wall is lined with one continuous floor to ceiling mirror. Alex wonders how that mirror ever made it in here in one piece.

They stop to admire their naked reflections. Henry grins at the image staring back at them, plants another kiss on Alex’s cheek. Alex tips his cheek to meet it, grins back.

They’ve only had three hours sleep, drank enough vodka at the Karaoke bar to be feeling more than a little hung over, but as Alex stares at their reflections in the oversized mirror all he sees is a golden skinned freckled Henry – tall, lithe and royally beautiful as ever, even if a little dishevelled and flushed after their night of lust and debauchery. He sees himself as well, looking distinctly unkempt. Henry's description of him is not that far off the mark.

Alex thinks they’re opposites; Henry’s skin, pale and golden to his brown; Henry, tall and impossibly broad to Alex’s slighter build; Henry, quiet and earnest to his own fevered intensity. They are contraries yet somehow balance each other out. Maybe it has something to do with how Henry can calm some of Alex’s frenetic energy and Alex can absorb some of Henry’s “much.” Or maybe it has to do with that feeling that spreads out in Alex’s chest whenever he looks at Henry. Maybe it it’s the hours upon hours of late night conversations, when Alex can tell Henry anything and Henry doesn’t ever laugh at him.

Henry places his chin on Alex’s shoulder, stares at their reflection, grins. He wraps his arms tighter around Alex’s waist and kisses brown skin.

Alex scrubs his palms over his face. “Ug. Teeth,” he grumbles, untangling himself from Henry’s arms. He reaches for his own half empty toiletry bag and makes his way to the elaborately ornate double sink.

Henry joins him at the same sink, digging around for his toothbrush. They fight over the toothpaste and take turns spitting globs of foamy spit into the sink and Alex talks the entire time, explaining the similarities between Henry’s air guitar solo last night and his teeth brushing technique while Henry listens on, bemused.

When they’re done, Henry tells him with a rapt smile that was the longest two minutes of his _life_ and that Alex really needs to learn to _shut up_ occasionally, and Alex tells him he is the _worst_ and then kisses him and kisses him until he forgets what they were arguing about and Henry backs him into the shower – that's even larger on the inside – and blasts them with a warm jet of water from the double shower head until they’re saturated. They kiss hungrily, as if they can’t get enough of each other, as if they both know their time together is running out again, that soon they’ll be apart again for longer than either wants to think about. They kiss until they can’t breathe, until they can hardly stand, until Henry has to pin Alex against the extravagant marble tiles so his legs don’t buckle.

Alex wants to touch every part of Henry all at once, and Henry is just as eager – his broad hands are firm on Alex’s back, pulling him in close as his mouth devours Alex’s. Alex feels the rough stubble of a long days growth and revels in the feel of it. He presses his nose against it.

Alex grabs Henry’s shampoo and pours a generous amount into his hand. He gently washes Henry’s hair and Henry melts into it, closes his eyes, hums.

He makes a Mohawk of Henry’s golden tresses and Henry spikes Alex’s dark curls into dozens of pointed tendrils that are almost the colour of coffee and they squeeze their eyes closed and laugh as they take turns rinsing the shampoo out without letting it run into each other’s eyes.

He picks up another bottle, lathers up the thick washcloth with expensive body wash and presses it to Henry’s skin. He starts to wash.

His movements are meticulous and measured as he washes Henry’s impossibly broad shoulders, gliding the washcloth over Henry’s taught biceps, his forearms, the back of his hands. He washes each finger individually, his palms, his knuckles. He lathers the washcloth again and washes the expanse of Henry’s broad chest, watching Henry’s face soften as he drags the soft cloth over firm pectorals, abdomen, hips. He takes his time, especially at the dip of his waist; he spends more time than he needs here. He turns him by the shoulders and washes Henry’s back, tracing the curve of his spine down to his perfect royal ass.

Alex tries not to slip on the marble tiles as he drops to his knees and washes each leg in turn; feet, ankles, knees, Henry’s long, long legs and muscular thighs that are beyond perfection, and then he washes the rest of him, thoroughly and methodically, and when he’s done washing every part of Henry, he presses Henry against the marble tiles, pins his hands with his own, and tries not to slide on the tiles as he takes Henry into his mouth and takes him apart.

He thinks he’s getting good at this, and judging by the way Henry tips his head back, groans and runs his fingers through Alex’s hair, he thinks he’s doing all right, hangover and all.

He glances up to see Henry watching him, and Alex watches back, awed by Henry’s dazed expression as Alex takes him higher. Henry cries out words Alex can’t quite make out over the stream of water, but thinks it might be _God_ and maybe _fuck_, and definitely _Alex_. And Henry laughs when he comes, presses his head back against the expensive marble, smiles. His legs don't stop shaking.

Henry takes a moment to recover, hauls Alex up to him with strong arms and then Henry’s mouth is pressing down on his for another scorching kiss and it’s so hard and hot and heated that Alex doesn’t want to stop, he never wants to stop but Henry stops and grins wickedly at him before dropping to his knees to return the favour.

Alex says things but he can’t remember exactly what. Maybe _motherfucker_, and maybe _baby_, and quite possibly _Henry_. He’s not sure though, because when Henry does that thing with his tongue, everything goes a little hazy, and then things go even more hazy until wave after wave of pleasure crash through him and he’s fucking _transported_.

Afterwards, when Henry washes Alex in the same meticulous way that Alex washed him, Alex thinks about last night, about the way they moved together. About that thing that settled between them as he settled between Henry’s legs. How whatever this is between them felt like it shifted into something else when he shifted inside Henry. Something twists and clenches deep inside him whenever he thinks about last night, when he recalls in astonishment and wonder, in sheer fucking _awe_, the memory of when Henry let him in, when Henry let him share his body, when Henry let him fuck him.

He doesn’t have the words for it yet, it’s something greater than words, more, but he knows it something good and right by the way Henry laughs – light and alive – and the way that Alex’s chest aches when he hears that laugh. The way that thing in his chest opens and spreads itself around Henry.

The way Henry’s mouth doesn’t pinch at the corner when they’re like this.

Henry envelopes him with his broad shoulders and they hold each other and kiss while the warm water streams over their spent bodies, mouths still hungry for each other but softer now, more measured. Considered. Henry mouths kisses at his jaw. This time Alex hums.

Henry folds himself down so he can kiss Alex on the mouth again, their lips and tongues gliding together in a rhythm they’ve grown accustom to, until their fingers and toes wrinkle and the room is heavy with steam. Alex sinks into every kiss and Henry brushes his thumb across his jaw. It’s sweet and deep – the way Henry always kisses him after.

Alex thinks again about last night. And about every night they’ve been together since that first night in his room. He feels something settle over him, warm and true, but still without words.

“Hey, love? Where are you?” Henry asks. There’s a hint of concern in Henry’s voice that brings him back to the present. Alex realizes he was miles away.

The warm water runs over their spent bodies, soothing their tired muscles. Alex watches the small droplets run down Henry’s perfect face, dripping off the end of his nose, trailing into his mouth. Alex traces the drops with his tongue, across Henry’s lips and jaw, down the column of his throat.

They’ve been in the shower so long they can hardly see through the thick wall of steam that rises in thick white plumes above them.

“Right here sweetheart,” Alex answers against Henry’s skin. “I’m right here.”


End file.
